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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27376000">A Time of Compassion</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/morrigan_le_fae/pseuds/morrigan_le_fae'>morrigan_le_fae</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Old Guard Ministerio del Tiempo Crossover AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>El Ministerio del Tiempo, The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:55:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,270</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27376000</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/morrigan_le_fae/pseuds/morrigan_le_fae</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After reuniting Quynh with the rest of the Old Guard, Booker returns to his exile and runs into some old friends.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Old Guard Ministerio del Tiempo Crossover AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1999771</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Time of Compassion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>One year after Booker had betrayed his brothers and sisters and been sentenced to a century of exile, six months after Booker had been found by Quynh and reunited her with their family, and one month after Booker had been informed that he was still expected to honor the full terms of his exile, Sebastien le Livre was in a small neighborhood bar in Galicia waiting for the rain to let up.</p><p>Normally he wouldn't care about the weather outside of the bar, as it would have been his final destination anyway, but lately the cold had been seeping into his bones and the only food on offer was tortilla de patata and ham sandwiches. Food already tasted like ash, more potatoes wouldn't help.</p><p>Or perhaps it would. After all, Booker had made the choice to come to Santiago de Compostela in the hopes that by visiting a pilgrimage site the Catholic in him might awaken the knowledge of how to repent. Bland food was certainly penance. But maybe this worked better when one followed the entire path instead of hopping a plane to the end of it. Outside a group of pilgrims huddled together under the eaves of a church. Was it of the suffering of the body that vindicated the soul? If so, Booker should be cleared of wrongdoing for eternity. What was the chill of fall rains against the wintery plains of Russia? Did your count begin anew every time you fucked up? The group of pilgrims broke apart at last, scattering to get out of the rain. Or to find more rain. Who knows. Two of them in dark coats came toward the bar he was sitting in. Could pilgrims drink? He hadn't thought so- but that might have changed with the ages, like Latin mass and veils.</p><p>Just as he was considering finishing his beer and leaving regardless of the weather, the two men entered, speaking loudly. Only to stop suddenly when they caught sight of him. Booker froze- who would have known him? Had any of Merrick's men survived? Why were they here? Where else would they be? He reached for a knife, but they had turned their backs on him, arguing, but quieter than before. The taller man must have given up, because he strode to the bar, ignoring Booker and speaking intently with the barkeeper. The other man approached him slowly.</p><p>"Booker," the man said cautiously. The man was cleanshaven, which was why it took so long to recognize him-<br/>"Pacino."<br/>Pacino laughed a bit, in relief perhaps, leaning on the back of the chair. "How are you my friend? Life is treating you well I hope?"</p><p>Booker let of the knife and went back to his beer, grimacing at the taste and as an answer.</p><p>"I did not expect to see you here," Pacino tried again.</p><p>"Nor did I. You seem far from home," Booker said, looking him over. He looked no different than he had before- seventy five years previous. </p><p>"Ah, well. Not so far," he said hesitantly, looking at his companion as if for rescue. Pacino's tall partner swept over with two beers. He sat back as if to keep Booker in his sights but refused to look at him directly.</p><p>"Alonso."<br/>"Sebastien."</p><p>There was a long moment of silence before Booker decided, fuck it. He didn't leave Joe and Nicky's resentful silences to sit in judgement from Alonso de Entrerrios." He finished off his beer and stood in the same motion. Setting down the bottle just a bit too loudly in the almost deserted bar. He had a coat, he'd dry off eventually. But before he got two steps Pacino was on his feet and trying to move in front of him. </p><p>"No, no, please. Come on, you know how he is," he said, hands up in supplication.</p><p>Alonso snorted into his beer.</p><p>"Come sit with us for a while- have you been keeping up with the season? This one only follows losing teams," Pacino wheedles.</p><p>"Puah. They're rebuilding," Alonso replies heatedly. He makes eye contact with Booker before nodding back to the chair. "They're the better team!"</p><p>Booker snorts but sits back down and waves to the barkeep for another beer, as Pacino gets into the argument.</p><p>****</p><p>The bar closes down around nine and somehow Booker finds himself walking with Pacino and Alonso back to he hostel they're staying at for the night. He hadn't made plans yet but it's as good a place as any as long as he pays in cash.</p><p>They'd all gotten sandwiches from a shop on the street, and they sit down to eat it's quiet for the first time. Booker looks up from his shrinkwrap to see Pacino trying to put his sock-feet on Alonsos chair, and Alonso rolling his eyes as he pushes them off, and all of a sudden all he can see is the family that he won't ever see again. Andy, who will be gone, Joe and Nicky, who will never trust him again as they once did, Quynh, who has been forever altered by her centuries under the sea, and who he's never gotten the chance to know without it, and Nile. Nile who is so new and so young, and will have to learn without even his bad example. And somewhere deep inside him, where he buried his grief and his anger and his jealousies, he wonders if by the time this is over they'll want him back at all.</p><p>He puts the sandwich down and tries to breathe through the nausea. </p><p>"...Booker?" says Pacino hesitantly. He and Alonso are a blur of dark color against the beige of the walls, and floor and the coverlet they sit on. Oh. Booker wipes his eyes roughly on his sleeve and they come back into focus. </p><p>"I should go," he whispers roughly. He rubs his eyes again and takes a deep breath, steeling himself to leave them.</p><p>"Wait," Pacino says sharply, "where are you going?" But before Booker can answer he barrels on ahead. "Sit, tell us what's wrong." As Booker starts to shake his head, more certain than ever that this was a bad idea, that he shouldn't have come, shouldn't have left Paris, shouldn't have made it out of Russia in the first place, Pacino seems to become more agitated. </p><p>"I'm fine. It's fine," Booker says breath hitching, waving him off and moving to the door. "I need to go," but Pacino is angry suddenly, and it's more than Booker can handle, trying to figure out what he's done now. </p><p>And then there's a low deep voice in his ear, and Alonso's warm hand on his elbow pulls him gently back to the bed he'd been sitting on.</p><p>"Come now, deep breaths Sebastien. Hearken to my voice. Whatever it is that thou fearst may come, verily we shall grant thee aid." </p><p>Perhaps it's his deep voice, or his steady hands, or the antiquated language, but it calms him enough to say: "I am a thief and a deserter and now a betrayer too. Alonso of Entrerrios, you do now know what you pledge." And he closes his eyes so that he won't have to see the look on yet another person's face when they give up on him. There is a long pause, and then:</p><p>"Sebastien le Livre, you are many things, and some are not very good, but they are not all bad either." And then he feels Alonso's lips on his forehead, in a kiss of benediction, and after a while he sighs and lets the exhaustion in his soul drag him under.</p>
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